This is just another room

This is just another room that she is leaving,
Loading up the cardboard box with the feather boa,
And a scribbled note,
A hand-picked vase of flowers,
Left just lying for the vacant room to observe,
alone.

And the peeling wood paper,
The wine-stained remainder
Of nights you heard about later,
Is all we can see

Trying to shout a message
What you ignore, will begin to turn grey,
And my scribbled note
Is waiting in the kitchen,
While we slam the doors

And drive ourselves away.

Laurie Tallack

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